


All the Love To You and Yours

by artificialmac



Series: Brooke Lynn Hytes and Other Residential Neighborhoods in New York [3]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kinda Brooke-centric, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, Mentions of Panic Attacks, Mostly branjie, Post-breakup, Pre-breakup, but lots of branjie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-04-12 09:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19129315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificialmac/pseuds/artificialmac
Summary: The different Brocks, and how Jose loves each of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of a continuation from Can’t You See I’m Burning that explains all the different Brocks. 
> 
> ((Not necessary to have read CYSIB, but it would be appreciated <3))

Worried Brock was the most prevalent of all the Brocks.

He was the one that dominated Brock’s mind during the competition. Well, Worried Brock and Professional Brock shared that really. Worried Brock took precedent though. Every challenge that was cause to fret brought about Worried Brock. He would pace, and he would pick at his nails, and he would tear skin from his lips. 

Jose could always tell when he was dealing with Worried Brock because his lips felt different when they kissed. 

But even after the show had finished airing, Worried Brock still found a way into their lives. Worried Brock would check that he locked the door at least three times before bed, two if it was a good night. Worried Brock left the lights in the bathroom on. Worried Brock kept his shoes by the bedroom door. Worried Brock kept his things in bags when he visited. 

Worried Brock used to keep his heart in his bedside drawer in Nashville. When his heart made the 4-and-a-half-hour journey to place itself in Jose’s chest, Worried Brock’s hands clenched at his sides, barely holding back from snatching it up again. 

Any challenge seemingly simple brought out Professional Brock, the one that would kiss Jose on the cheek rather than the lips. The one that congratulated him with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. The one that would wave hello and goodbye and make earsplitting small talk after their breakup. He was nice, but it was forced. It was a forced happy that Jose loathed seeing. 

Because Professional Brock was the one everyone else got to see. He was poised and calm and…professional. It was superficial at best, and a mime of who Brock really was at least. 

…

Scared Brock was perhaps Jose’s least favorite Brock.

He was the one Jose saw the most of in the weeks leading up to their breakup. His Brock took a backseat as Scared Brock began to take hold. Second guessing every hand hold. Waiting with bated breath after every question. It was like walking on eggshells, if they had already been stepped on and were also on fire. 

The glimpses of His Brock became fewer and farther between. Jose was exhausted by the end of it. Trying and failing time and time again to soothe Scared Brock, and coax His Brock, or really any other Brock into appearing.

It was no use. 

The damage had been done.

…

Happy Brock lived his best life in the summer.

With the sunshine and the warm air. Happy Brock would (poorly) hum love songs under his breath as he and Jose walked hand and hand down one of the many piers in LA. He would buy Jose ice cream just so he could kiss away the sticky mess Jose inevitably made all over his face. Happy Brock wouldn’t care if when he danced it wasn’t perfect.

Happy Brock was just that, happy. 

His forehead never creased, his eyes never sunk back in his head, and his eyes stayed crinkled at the edges. 

His eyes shone with the waning light, and Jose swears he had never seen anything more beautiful than Happy Brock’s soft smile at the sunset. 

…

Sad Brock took a while to get to know. 

He was shut off and kept hidden behind the closed eyelids and padlocked doors that made up Brock’s mind. He wasn’t easy to get to know. He was even harder to love. 

But Jose made do. 

He took his time. 

Getting to know bits and pieces of Sad Brock. Learning his likes and dislikes. What to say if and when he made an appearance. How to tell the difference between Sad Brock and Brock being sad. It was a faint distinction, but one that existed in the space it took to wrap his arms around Brock’s shoulders. Small, but not insignificant. 

Sad Brock appeared more frequently when he drank, or maybe Brock just cared less about locking the door behind himself. Sad Brock would drink too much tequila and call Jose pretty and perfect and all the other names that Jose used to preen under. But they wouldn’t be said the same way. They would be said like Brock lost the word halfway through saying it. Like he had lost…something. 

He had. 

They both had. 

…

Jose loved Brock, all the Brocks. But, his favorite by far was His Brock. 

His Brock was thoughtful. Getting him a personalized necklace for his birthday with one of Brock’s nicknames on it, so that Jose could always have a Brock with him, next to his heart, where he belonged. 

His Brock bought flowers just because. Always a different kind. He would come home with a bouquet and a card that had the meaning of the different flowers. He would read it to Jose while the younger man placed kisses all over his face. His Brock would pretend to get mad saying “Don’t you want to hear why Lilies are the flower for purity?” Jose would shake his head and make an off-color joke about purity that would make Brock giggle. The kind that made his nose scrunch up, and his laugh lines visible. Jose would kiss them sweetly, until Brock gave up trying to educate his boyfriend.

His Brock took them to meet his parents only two months into dating. 

Jose expected to see Worried or Scared Brock as he shook Mama Hytes’ hand, but on that trip, the only Brock visible was His Brock. 

His Brock was proud to show him off at every opportunity. Family friends, schoolmates, even the occasional stranger in passing. His Brock dominated the trip. Maybe it was because they were in Brock’s home country that he felt the way he did. His Brock would kiss him in the street with no warning, hold his hand at every opportunity, place a hand on his lower back to lead him, and love him unapologetically in the open. Jose had never seen Brock like this; this free spirit. Usually bogged down by Worried or Professional Brock, there was hardly PDA between the two, but something about the Canadian air must have triggered something in Brock, because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself the entire time.

It was an overwhelming, but not unwelcome influx of affection. 

 

His Brock took care of him. 

Jose felt emotions strongly. This was not news to anyone. It was one of the things His Brock liked best about him. His ability to be so honest with his own feelings, no matter what feelings they were. The first fight in ‘Untucked’ had shown Brock the uglier side of that coin. Jose had worried that would be the final nail in the coffin so to speak, but it only made Brock strive to learn better how to handle Jose when he got too hyped up. 

He learned. It took time, but he learned. He learned that Jose could get just as quiet as he could get loud. He learned that too many mimosas made Jose sleepy rather than rowdy, but too many tequilas made him dancy and impossible to sleep next too. 

He learned all of this, and he stayed even after.

His Brock still took care of him after they broke up. 

His Brock appeared at Jose’s door with supplies, and an open heart when Jose had called him in a fevered state. Jose had been burning, maybe less from the fever than originally thought, but Brock had brought a firetruck. Doused the flame in the time it took them to curl up together as if nothing had changed.

…

Brock loved him.

They never said it, any of them, but Jose knew. He knew from the first few kisses in the werkroom. He knew from the first panic attack he had to coax Brock through, he knew from the moment he introduced Brock to his mom. 

He knew.

He always knew.

So, when it came time for His Brock to no longer be His, it was hard. 

And it sucked. 

It sucked so fucking much.

It sucked even worse because all the other Brocks were there. All the other Brocks he had learned to love were on tour with him. Smiling in his dressing room, or crying into Nina’s shoulder pads, or pacing up and down the narrow hallway, or locking the door behind himself. 

All the Brocks Jose loved were there, except the one that loved him back.


	2. From Me and Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After many months... here is part 2. Thank you all for all the love on the first part, it really means the world!

Drunk Brock was a mess.

An emotional, horny, affectionate mess.

He was an event. A production. Jose’s favorite television show. At least he was when they were together.

After the breakup, the emotional, horny, affectionate mess became Jose’s least favorite reality show. And Jose was starring as the jilted ex-lover.

Brock would hold his hand and dance like he wasn’t breaking Jose’s heart with every step to the beat. He would pull Jose close and tell him things he didn’t dare say when they shared the same bed. 

He would miss him in a way that made Jose sure they would never have closure.

…

Angry Brock didn’t care much for nuance. When he appeared, he made an entrance. Throwing down his bags or slamming a door. 

He lashed out. He got loud.

He was… normal.

It was rare to see Angry Brock in full force. Most of the little hiccups brought out Annoyed Brock or Frustrated Brock. 

Angry Brock was an entirely different animal.

No amount of reason or logic, things he held dear, could placate him. Nothing could placate him really. 

Jose had to learn the hard way that yelling himself was the only thing that made it worse. If he yelled or made a fuss or fought back, which was his nature, Angry Brock would only become more so. He would yell louder, make more of a fuss, fight harder. 

Jose, for all his knowledge, was never good at walking away from a fight, but he learned eventually that was what had to be done.

He would let Brock rant and rave and say things he didn’t mean. He would let Brock come down from his high.

He would hold him and tell him that everything was fine and he understood, better than most people. They lead crazy lives. They dealt with a lot of frustration. They were bound to lash out eventually.

His Brock would apologize. 

Jose never needed him too.

…

Tired Brock was a mixed bag. 

Sometimes he was irritated. Sometimes he was kind.

Mostly he was just sleepy.

He would make any flat surface in the room into a makeshift bed, even if his long limbs dangled precariously over the sides of whatever furniture would do.

He would smile bleary-eyed at Jose like he was the sun. 

Jose learned that energy drinks only masked Tired Brock for half an hour. Within that time, Tired Brock would be back in full force, making quiet snarky remarks, or holding Jose’s hand too tight. 

The best remedy was sleep, or a few well-placed kisses usually did the trick.

Jose smiled softly at him in a way that conveyed everything he couldn’t say. Brock smiled obliviously back at him. They would curl up in a bed or a bunk or a couch and fall asleep to the sound of their shared heartbeat.

And it would be peaceful.

…

Past Brock was a distant memory.

A ghost in Brock’s own head. But he resurfaced every now and then. When a dance picture came up, or a church bell rang too loudly, or a friend that fell out of touch reached out.

He was… nostalgia personified.

He was the body in the closet, the monster under the bed. Something every person fears meeting. 

Past Brock was a part of him, but not what he was made up of.

When Past Brock started flipping through photo albums or pulling up performances of a time long past, Jose would watch him silently. Let Past Brock weave tales of perfection and drugs and dance. He told them like he hadn’t lived them. Told Jose of times he had thought the pressure and the weight of his life was going to crush him. Past Brock would smile at his own jokes and tear up at lost opportunities. 

Jose would tell him that he wasn’t that person anymore.

Past Brock would just shake his head and say he would always be that person.

Jose wouldn’t argue back, but he knew in his heart it wasn’t true.

Brock was who he was because of Past Brock. Because he had lived on, even when he may have not wanted to.

Past Brock would always be there, a part of Brock’s story, but he wasn’t the ending, not by a long shot.

…

Brock, as he was, was a collection of himself. An amalgamation of all that humanity could and would be.

He masked his pain with perfection.

Masked it pretty well, too.

He covered his imperfections with brick and concrete and an inability to love.

But he had trusted Jose. Trusted that not only would Jose accept him for his flaws and broken parts, but love him in spite of his shortcomings.

And he had been right.

In all the ways Jose could love Brock, he did. _In all the ways he was allowed to._

 

He assuaged Worried Brock’s fears.

He smiled cordially at Professional Brock.

He let Scared Brock self-destruct.

He held Happy Brock’s hand.

He loved His Brock.

He tolerated Drunk Brock.

He met Angry Brock in the middle

He got Tired Brock to bed.

He reminisced with Past Brock.

He loved them all.

Some more than others, he admits that freely.

But you can love someone regardless of their flaws or in spite of their flaws. 

Jose did neither, he loved Brock, all of him, because of his flaws. Because he wasn’t the perfect person he pretended to be. 

There was no cosmic explanation. No supernatural force at work.

Jose loved Brock because he did.

And that was enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> I have an idea for a part 2 with a few more Brocks, but I wasn’t sure if anyone was interested in the others. I wanted to get the main Brocks out of the way. If ya’ll want I can do a part 2. Lmk!


End file.
